


Silhouette

by dayneschiele



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, because viktor and yuuri are sinners, going to file under explicit just in case, gym coach chris, gym coach viktor, gym coach viktor is basically gym dad viktor lbr, gymnast minami, gymnast otabek, gymnast yuri plisetsky, gymnastics AU, his idol happens to be the head coach at said gym, how do tags work again, not so much angst, retired gymnast phichit, retired gymnast yuuri, slowish burn, so he finds a gym to work out in for fun, that will probably take a very long time to finish, the gym au i've kept hidden for weeks now, yuuri is a retired college gymnast but misses the sport
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-18 03:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11865831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dayneschiele/pseuds/dayneschiele
Summary: After an anticlimactic performance at the World Cup in his first season as an elite gymnast, Yuuri Katsuki found himself accepting a scholarship to compete for Detroit University's men's gymnastics team. Four years later, after graduating and, consequently, retiring, he just can't seem to shake his love for the sport. He seeks out a local gym in hopes of using the equipment for fun, only to find out that the head coach is none other than his long-time idol, Viktor Nikiforov.See also: I suck at summaries.





	1. Life After Retirement

**Author's Note:**

> It took a great deal of strength not to name this story, "Gym-nasty".
> 
> So, I’ve wanted to do a gymnastics AU for, like, forever now, and this seemed like the perfect fandom for it. Viktor coaching young girls and boys was just too adorable to pass up. I was a competitive gymnast for four years, and was training level 9 when I quit at age 14, so I like to think I know a pretty decent amount about women’s gymnasts. Men’s gymnastics, however, is very different, and so I’ve been speaking to old friends as a form of research. Even still, this fic will be focusing less on the technical aspects of gymnastics and more on the romance between Viktor and Yuuri. I also haven’t set foot in the gym in about six years, so a good bit of this is based on memory. 
> 
> Also, yes, I made up a college because there is no Detroit college gymnastics team. Fight me.

His gym bag had intentionally been left at home that morning, being that he knew he wasn’t going to get the chance to actually touch the equipment. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure that the owner would even accept a retired gymnast—they made a good amount of money through competitive gymnasts after all, considering the cost of competition wear, warm ups, competitions, and coach fees. The monthly installments were nothing to sneeze at either. He suppressed a grimace, not really wanting to think about exactly how much money he was going to be shelling out every month just to practice a sport he was no longer competing in.

Suppressing ill thoughts towards whatever undoubtedly outrageous fee he’d have to pay just to use this place as a way to blow off steam, he pressed his hand against the glass door and pushed it open. A little bell chimed in response. The facility was much larger than most compulsory-optional gyms he’d seen or trained at in the past, he could tell that much just from the outside. Cool air whipped against his face from the automatic air conditioner above the door, momentarily masking the scent of chalk, sweat, and feet that he’d become so accustomed to over the years. He managed not to laugh, finding it a bit humorous that all gyms seemed to have that universal _smell_.

The man sitting at the front appeared to perk up at his entrance, though whether out of courtesy or intense boredom he couldn’t be sure. Hickory dipped to read the curling letters of his nametag: _Georgi_. “Are you here to pick someone up?”

Yuuri shook his head, though he somewhat expected the question. He looked a bit old to be taking classes. Well, he _was_ a bit old to be taking classes. “I was actually hoping to speak with the owner about paying to use the equipment.”

“We don’t do rentals.” He stated, clearly misunderstanding what the other meant.

“No! No—I mean, I was on Detroit’s team, but I graduated a few months ago and now my competitive career is over.” He explained, fumbling over the beginning of his speech. “I—Uh, I don’t really need coaching. I just love the sport.”

Georgi’s eyes seemed to widen at his last admission, either ignoring or completely missing Yuuri’s nervous flush. “How beautiful.” His accented words were muttered, lost forever to the cool air. He cleared his throat, blinking a few times to clear the glossiness from his eyes. “The owner’s not in today, but I can ask the head coach to speak with you if you want to take a seat.”

Yuuri nodded. “That would be great, thank you.”

Georgi gave him a half smile, sitting up in one fluid motion as the rolling chair at his desk slid out of his way. Yuuri allowed him to pass from behind the desk and pad over towards the doorless entrance to the gym before making a move towards the glass wall that looked out to the equipment. One last sweeping glance of the front desk brought a smile to his face, eyes fixating on the rows of colorful leotards for sale hanging in a range of sizes. He muffled a snort, finding that most of those tacky patterns were things he’d never imagine any gymnast wearing.

He took the chance provided to take a peek into the gym, noticing right away that there were almost two completely separate gyms. His eyes lit up, lips splitting into a smile without his mind’s orders. Of course, there was only one area devoted to balance beam—with no less than twelve beams, he should add—an area for pommel horse, and an area for the rings. That was to be expected, seeing as men and women had different apparatuses. He delighted in the fact that it looked like all of the events had duplicates, whether stationed together or apart for the sake of rhyme and reason.

The uneven, parallel, and high bars were stationed together in the center of the floor plan, two vaults in opposite directions on the far wall across from him, and only one of the two floors had a pit for tumbling, which was also connected to an in-ground trampoline. Other than that, it appeared that all of the men’s and women’s equipment was kept separate, which was actually very helpful. There were even two tumble-tracks right next to floor A and floor B! In his younger days, the gym he’d trained at shared a lot of space, which was cause for conflict quite often. Considering there were at least four different groups sharing the gym at once—the men’s compulsory and optional teams, and then the women’s compulsory and optional teams—sometimes having the still rings situated over a portion of the only floor in the building would cause tension between gymnasts and coaches alike.

He had to admit, even from here, most of the equipment looked new, or at least well taken care of. It was rare to have so much equipment without _at least_ some of it being worn. He idly wondered who was keeping this place in line. Gymnastics was an expensive sport, which often caused gym owners to become very frugal and sometimes, dare he say, stingy. A quiet whistle escaped barely parted lips as he cupped a hand against the glass to get a better view, eliminating the glare from the ceiling lights.

In his surveillance of what exactly he had to work with, which turned out to be quite impressive for the fact that he’d just walked to the gym nearest his duplex, he managed to completely gloss over the gymnasts that were training. It appeared that there was a female coach working with the women’s compulsory team on vault, some girls practicing front handsprings while others performed varying vaults by level onto the pit mat situated before the second vault. There were also girls on balance beam practicing isolated skills, but it appeared that the woman coaching the girls through their vaults, barking corrections and clapping enthusiastically, was also keeping an eye on the other apparatus in use. Yuuri raised a brow at that, finding it rather strange to leave an entire team with minimal supervision.

He had yet to remove his hand from the glass, completely encapsulated by watching the gymnasts perform while familiarizing himself with the apparatus layout. It was vastly different from his home gym, but he was sure he could manage. He had been swept away by the steady, rolling waves of excitement, smile having melted into somewhat of an awed ‘O’. Phichit was literally going to _flip_ when he told him about this.

The palm against his shoulder shattered his reverie, violently snatching him back into reality. His body’s reaction was to tense up completely, sucking in a breath with eyes wide behind thickly rimmed glasses. He slowly turned to face the source of his spiked heart rate, immediately finding that curious molten turquoise was not a remedy for soothing frayed nerves—especially not when coupled with unreplicatable silver locks. He was beginning to wonder if he’d actually died from fright and ascended to his personal plane of heaven, even though the overwhelming amount of thoughts he’d had about _this man_ in particular were embarrassingly sinful.

“I see you’ve already started checking out the gym.” Delicately accented English saturated with mirth dripped from his tongue, no doubt his amusement stemming from Yuuri’s reaction to his touch.

The man in question recovered his senses enough to laugh, hand gripping his chest in the universal signal of “ _you definitely just sent me into cardiac arrest_ ”. His gaze briefly flitted to Georgi, who appeared to be making an enigmatic expression and slowly sneaking away to his desk. He couldn’t help but wonder if that man was okay.

“Hi, Yuuri,” there was a momentary pause, head tipping to one side as a gentle smile seized pale lips, “It’s nice to—”

“ _Viktor Nikiforov_ .” Soft, breathy, almost too faint to hear. He really hadn’t meant to cut him off mid-sentence… He really hadn’t meant to speak at all, in truth. The other’s smile only grew more fond, eyes alight as though they were neon signs that had just been plugged in. _Damn, he’s even more stunning in person._ The thought occurred to Yuuri that he hadn’t told Georgi his name, and the question escaped from the clutches of his teeth before he had the chance to swallow it, “Wait—How do you know _my_ name?”

The flicker from immediate confusion to disappointment before his smile tightened into something frigid was almost enough to make Yuuri want to collapse into himself like a dying star. Bright eyes prodded his own for a few moments, searching for something indiscernible until they decided it was not there. “Uh,” Viktor tapped his own right shoulder, which caused Yuuri to look down at himself, “your warm ups.”

Yuuri’s face was beginning to feel very, very hot. He probably looked like a complete moron right now, floundering in front of the one person he’d idolized for so long and forgetting that he’d worn his Detroit University team jacket with his name clearly embroidered into it. “Um, oh.” _Um, oh_?

“Well, that’s not to say that I haven’t watched you compete either,” Viktor quickly amended, tone smooth as ever even as the faintest glow of embarrassment rose to garnish porcelain skin. “Live and on TV, in fact.”

His initial reaction was to be excited because, first of all, his idol knew who he was and had watched him compete _at least_ twice. Unfortunately, dread consumed his excitement shortly thereafter as he began flicking through his mental rolodex of every single mistake he’d ever made in his entire history as a gymnast. Somewhere in the midst of his mental recollection of his very first lesson, he managed to remember that he was in the middle of a conversation. “Oh, well—” Why was his first thought to say, ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’? “I was no Nikolai Andrianov, that’s for sure.” He managed a laugh, hand reaching to scratch his back in embarrassment.

“ _No one_ is Nikolai Andrianov.” Viktor joked, offering a wink. Yuuri’s breath died in his lungs at the gesture, being that the comment was coming from the most decorated male gymnast of their time—not to mention that he was undefeated during his elite run and even had a skill named after him. “Well, except for Nikolai Andrianov.”

Yuuri laughed in kind, perhaps a smidge too loud and too eager, but it brought back Viktor’s charming smile all the same. He decided early on that he liked Viktor best when he was smiling.

“Georgi told me you want to start practicing here?” He shifted the subject, crossing his arms over his chest as if to examine him. Coach’s habit, no doubt.

Yuuri couldn’t help the way his eyes followed the movement, trailing along arms forged of marble and the outline of his clearly solid chest, which his shirt unfairly clung to. Dripping honey ventured back up to meet sapphire, catching a glimpse of a smirk as he did so. _Caught! That’s so embarrassing!_ Right, now was the time to be presenting his case, not ogling the head coach. “Oh, yeah! I mean, obviously my competitive career is over now that I’ve graduated college, but I just couldn’t see myself not practicing…” His words lost momentum at the ending, a finger idly scratching at the flesh of his cheek. In actuality, he hated that his competitive days were over.

Viktor tipped his head, curious. “Why can’t you compete now that you’ve graduated?” While it was well known that those who crossed the professional threshold couldn’t accept college scholarships for gymnastics, there was nothing specifically stating that they couldn’t instead take the scholarship and then compete level 10 or elite once they graduated. “I’m sure that we could have you competing as a level 10—at the very least, of course—for this upcoming season.”

He managed to suppress a grimace at the prospect of competing as a level 10 at the age of 23—he knew 14 year olds who were competing as level 10 gymnasts. “A-ah, I’ve actually put a lot of thought into it,” He started, drawing a breath, “but I competed elite before I took my scholarship four years ago, so level 10 is out of the cards.”

He _had_ competed for one season, going so far as the World Cup, where he made a complete fool of himself by choking on three of his six events. His first fall made him incredibly anxious and ended up affecting his last two routines. He fell _four times_ within the same competition. Before the World Cup, he couldn’t even remember how many years it had been since he’d fallen in competition _at all_. After suffering that humiliation, he took an entire competitive season off and contemplated the future of his career. He ended up accepting a scholarship and didn’t look back. He couldn’t see himself signing off to be professional, anyway. Sponsors would see him as too much of a risk, and he didn’t want to shuck out any more of his family’s hard earned money than he already had to fruitlessly compete as an elite gymnast.

“—And I feel a bit old to start shooting for the Olympics.” He tacked on, mostly joking. Of course there were plenty of other huge competitions to gun for besides just the Olympics, but that was everyone’s goal, right?

Viktor hummed in acknowledgement, eyes painting the other’s face cerulean with the force of his scrutinizing gaze. He chewed on his thoughts like gum, every passing moment only adding to the anxious flame that had long since embedded itself in Yuuri’s stomach. “Well—” He mused, his lips shifting as he glanced out towards the gym. One of his girls must have waved, because he took the pause to wave back. Yuuri idly wondered what he’d done to deserve the punishment of having his fate stalled in limbo like this. “I’m sure Yakov wouldn’t mind _too much_ as long as you’re still paying monthly.”

He couldn’t help the smile that split his face, eyes a burning mahogany. “Ah, thank you!” He sighed in relief, fighting not to let his excitement and desperation reflect outwardly. He bowed, mostly because his thoughts were swimming and it was more of a natural reaction than anything. “A-and I won’t take you away from your competitive teams. I’m just doing it for fun, so I don’t really need coaching.”

Viktor quirked a pale brow, smirking to himself more than to Yuuri. “I’d like to keep an eye on you anyway, just in case I can convince you to start competing again.” This time his wink was a bit more flirtatious, making the air surrounding Yuuri seem that much cooler. He knew his face must be telling of the burning heat beneath his skin. _Convince me how_? “Besides, I can’t have you breaking your neck in my gym.”

“Oh, um, okay.” He managed to stutter out, once again proving himself to be rather articulate. Mental prayers were sent out to anyone who would listen, begging to somehow magically become less awkward. “Yeah.”

* * *

Yuuri wanted to wait until he got home to tell Phichit all about the gym he’d found, and _Viktor fucking Nikiforov_ , but the mixture of burning anxiety and raw excitement quickly weakened his resolve. He still had a pretty decent walk home to be bursting at the seams like he was, so he decided not to torture himself. Pulling his phone from the front pocket of his joggers, he swiftly navigated through to Phichit’s contact.

 

**To: Phichit**

_You will never guess how my morning went._

 

**From: Phichit**

_Better than a swimwear shoot?_

 

**To: Phichit**

_I’m pretty sure this tops everything._  
_I found a new gym to practice in._  
_How was the shoot, by the way?_

 

**From: Phichit**

_You actually found a place that’ll let you bum around?_  
_That is pretty exciting._  
_And it was cold!_  
_But sexy ;)_

**To: Phichit**

_I haven’t told you the best part yet._

 

**From: Phichit**

_Jesus, Yuuri, what are you stalling for?  
_ _Tell me!_

 

**To: Phichit**

_Okay,_  
_So get this:_  
_The head coach is Viktor Nikiforov._

**From: Phichit**

_You know I love you, but_  
_Are you drunk? Haha_  
_That sounds reaaally made up, my friend_  
_At least wait for me if you’re going to day drink, we could make mimosas!_

**To: Phichit**

_Okay,_  
_Ignoring that you’re only saying that because of the_ **_one time_ ** _I got drunk and talked about Viktor..._  
_I can’t make these things up, Phich_  
_Come to a practice one day and you’ll see_

 

**From: Phichit**

_Wait, you’re being SERIOUS?_  
_Yuuri!!!_  
_You realize you have to tell me EVERYTHING_  
_Over mimosas ;) Now you’ve made me want one_

His teeth sunk into the soft flesh of his cheek, trying to halt the rapidly forming smile in an attempt to look a little less silly on his walk home. He typed up a message of promise before shoving his phone into his pocket and focusing on his destination. He entertained the thought of running—it wasn’t like he’d been doing _nothing_ in his few months off, so he was still in good shape. Running to gym before practice would be a good warm up, so long as he stretched his knees and rolled out his ankles first. The rest of his stretching could wait until he actually got to the gym.

He snorted, finding himself hopelessly infatuated with the sport. Here he was, already planning out how he wanted tomorrow to go. He supposed it wasn’t half bad of an idea to lay out a method to his madness. Viktor had mentioned filling out paperwork tomorrow, evaluating Yuuri’s skill level, and had also asked if he would be able to pay a prorated fee for the month, to which he confirmed that he could. Admittedly, even the prorated fee had been quite steep. Suddenly the new equipment didn’t seem like such a stretch, and he had to imagine that Viktor’s name alone had the price shooting up in the numbers compared to other local gyms. He was lucky for the consistent work he was getting, since it paid pretty well.

The concept of needing a job to survive and pay rent wasn’t one that Yuuri _hadn’t_ accounted for per se — he wasn’t dense. Applying for jobs, however, had been a new process. Being that he’d been in gymnastics since he was about 11, actually getting into it pretty late compared to a lot of his former teammates, he hadn’t really had the time for a job. Gymnastics leaves no plane of exhaustion untouched, and with Yuuri’s burning desire to _be someone_ in the elite world when he was younger, he devoted all of his time and energy to making that dream happen. His career may not have gone in the direction that he planned, but he could happily say that his efforts paid off—he had a college education and a thriving love for a beautiful sport.

His scholarship paid for just about everything he could have ever wanted; housing, education, gymnastics, and food. He had never considered himself a social butterfly, so being paired up in a dorm with Phichit for a friend proved to satisfy whatever need he felt to interact with humans. As fate would have it, he and Phichit had become such good friends by the end of their four years that they ended up renting a duplex together. Phichit also begged Yuuri to join the modeling company he worked at, gushing nonstop about how much everyone would love him, and how he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to, and how _amazing_ the pay was. Suffice to say, Phichit actually ended up talking him into it after he received exactly zero calls back from jobs he’d applied to. It had been extremely uncomfortable at first, but he ended up figuring out how to put a brave face on for the cameras.

His thoughts drifted back to his mental rehearsal for the next day, recounting his routines and figuring up a checklist for his showcase. He had to take into account that he would be a little stale from the past few months, working his way back into the skills with the highest difficulty, but Viktor knew that as well. Okay, so Viktor wasn’t technically his coach. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t curious about the extent to Yuuri’s training, and Yuuri would probably walk into busy traffic blindfolded if _the_ Viktor Nikiforov smiled and asked him to.

Just as he’d started skipping around half-way through planning his events to what he should wear—and which pairs of grips should he bring for bars, and should he bring an iPod for conditioning in case he hated the gym’s music, and what should he have for breakfast—he approached the duplex. He was smiling to himself as he rounded the curve right before his house, a car blowing by him without paying much mind. The little two bedroom, one bath duplex was quaint, and actually quite cute. He saw that the light was on through the window, knowing that Phichit was going to overwhelm him with questions as soon as he turned the doorknob.

* * *

“Remember to set, and if I see one more flat footed layout, I’m assigning rope climbs.” He called to one of the girls, though there was a hint of mischief in his voice that said he wasn’t entirely serious. Their time block was about to be up, which meant they would be switching to conditioning, cooling down with stretches, and then marching off on their merry way.

Another gymnast came tumbling his way, trained eyes analyzing every component of her round-off, back handspring, and then a double-back with a light spot. She landed perfectly on her feet for the third time in a row that day, the four inch mat squashed beneath her. Viktor clapped excitedly, offering her a high five and a side hug at her new achievement. “That’s what I’m talking about!” He exclaimed, his student grinning like mad at her accomplishment and his praise. “Your set was nice and high, just make sure you get those knees all the way together. No cowboy, okay?”

She nodded, her smile withstanding his critique because if there was one thing that any of them knew about Viktor, it’s that he could find something wrong with a perfect 10.00. “Do you think you’re ready to pull the mat, _zolotse_?” Her eager nod made his chest swell with pride.

He caught Christophe sneaking in with his sunglasses still on and a coffee he’d yet to pour into his water bottle, which elicited a snort. If he managed to trip over a mat and spill his drink all over the place, he would definitely be responsible for cleaning it up. Viktor decided to let it go for right now, taking full advantage of the last five minutes before the final rotation ended and the girls’ optional team went on to wrap up their workout with conditioning. His girls were isolating their ending tumbling passes at the moment—save for the one he was barely spotting on her double back. She finished up her passes early (probably by cutting people in line and finding unused corners) and begged him to let her work on her opening pass again, claiming she was _so close_ and wanted to be able to say she could do it before she left. He wasn’t going to tell her no.

Now, she was gearing up to go again. The four inch mat had been pulled back and out of the way, draped lazily over one of the unoccupied vault runways. “Two finger spot, okay?” He called, watching intently as she fidgeted with her feet. She nodded, drawing a deep breath to calm her nerves before taking off into a run, hurdle, round-off, back handspring, double back tuck. She took a step back, swaying a little on her feet before he grabbed her upper arm to steady her. “Amazing!”

The girl voiced her triumph with a gleeful, “Yes!”

“Did you see that, Chris? One of my _little stars_ got her double back today!” He was overwhelmingly proud, especially being that he hadn’t really done _anything_ to spot her. The two finger spot was really just for reassurance and so that he could be there in case she balked. Chris whooped his praise from across the gym, sounding rather groggy in Viktor’s opinion. “You can go get started on your conditioning now. Let’s have another day like this tomorrow, _da_?”

She agreed, unable to keep from smiling as she bounded off to check the list on the wall for the day’s conditioning. Viktor clapped, catching everyone’s attention. “Good work today girls, let’s move on to conditioning. Don’t forget that it’s core _and_ a box—we may be working on putting routines together, but it’s not competition season yet.”

Chris took that as his sign to approach, knowing better than to interrupt Viktor while his attention was on his team. Despite what Yakov seemed to think, Viktor was actually incredibly focused while he was coaching. Then again, he _was_ the coach for the optional girls and boys, and the higher the levels go, the more attention is required to make sure that they don’t get injured.

“They grow up so fast.” Christophe sighed, pretending to wipe proud tears from his face. His sunglasses had been removed and shoved into the front of his shirt, effectively making him look like a tool.

“Chris, did you get _any_ sleep last night?” Viktor chided, taking in the sight of paled skin and dark circles.

If possible, he paled even more. Viktor was beginning to wonder if a ghost had replaced his usually tanned friend. “I might’ve had a drink or ten.” He admitted sheepishly, leaning in the opposite direction of his friend and coworker to gauge his reaction.

“What am I going to do with you?” Viktor sighed, shaking his head.

“Something _exciting_ , I hope.” He winked, keeping his voice low enough that the younger gymnasts couldn’t hear his flirtatious tone. Viktor cracked a smile out of amusement, completely unwilling to play along with the other’s antics by retaliating. “Oh, before I forget, Georgi mentioned a new male gymnast.”

“Ah, yes, but he’s not on your team.” The head coach informed, catching Christophe’s immediate pout as he did so. Viktor took a moment’s pause to think, kneading the idea of dredging up a long lost conversation with his companion. He muffled a sigh, thinking it was probably best to talk to _someone_ about this kind of thing, and who better than Chris?

That thought would have to wait a second, however, as he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, “I don’t want to see bent knees and flat feet on those leg lifts! Start over.”

After the gymnast in question groaned, dropped from the high bar to chalk up again, and started over with _proper_ form, he picked up the conversation once more. Viktor easily slipped into French, just in case one of the girls happened to be listening in on their conversation, “Do you remember the Detroit University home meet about a year ago?”

Chris paused to mull it over before the realization filtered into eyes of olive. He opened his mouth as if gasping before the expression morphed into more of a cheeky smirk. “ _Oh_? Is it…?”

Viktor nodded, but the smile he returned was sad. “He acted completely different, like he had never met me before.”

The other didn’t appear to be too fazed by that information. “I’d say that’s pretty normal, considering the—ahem— _position_ he was in the last time he saw you. Maybe he’s just nervous and doesn’t know how to talk to you about it yet, dear. It _has_ been an entire year.”

“Maybe you’re right.” He sighed, still finding it odd that he would ask how he knew his name after what transpired between them. Viktor was pretty certain he echoed it more than once during their first encounter. Nevertheless, he pushed the conversation forward. “He’s coming in tomorrow for a skill evaluation. Would you mind coming in early to lend a hand?”


	2. Meet Coach Melodrama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor showcases his flair for dramatics. Yuuri is confused, naturally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should be a more eventful chapter than the last! Writing this is basically just me venting about gymnastics, lol. Also... I may have something mythical in the works, in regards to another story I'm writing.

He slowed his steps just as he reached the glass doors, immediately thankful for the burst of cool air that greeted him upon entrance. He was already sweating like mad, but he’d anticipated that much and brought an extra pair of clothes and a towel. He’d also packed deodorant because, well, he didn’t want to smell absolutely disgusting to himself and to everyone around him all day. The woman at the front desk lifted her eyes from the schedule book she had out on the counter, releasing the end of the pen from her mouth and offering a cheerful greeting to a very flushed Yuuri. He noted that this was a different woman than the one he saw coaching the previous day; the coach had red hair, and this woman had longer, darker hair and peculiarly violet eyes. Her name tag read, “Sara.”

“Good morning,” came his breathy greeting, still working on regulating his air intake after his run. He’d swapped his glasses for contacts that morning, being that he very well couldn’t do anything without them flying off of his face and leaving him blind anyway. All red cheeks and sweat-slicked hair, he managed a small smile out of courtesy.

“You must be Yuuri,” she replied. “I’ll let Coach Viktor know you’re here, if you want?”

“Oh! Take your time, I’m early.” His response might have been a bit too hurried, blush mingling with the proof of his morning run at the mention of Viktor. He mentally chastised himself for clamming up just at the mention of his  _ name _ . How was he supposed to perform well with his focus skewed? “Um, do you have a bathroom?”

Sara nodded, pointing in the direction of the hallway right before the entrance to the gym. He thanked her, making a start for the restroom to change and clean up. He noticed that she’d gotten up, likely to go tell Viktor that he’d arrived even though he was early. He supposed being early was better than being late, but he wasn’t exactly keen on looking  _ too _ eager either. He really wanted to make a good…  _ second _ impression.

He exhaled, willing away the anxiety that burned cold within his stomach. He claimed a stall once he reached the bathroom, taking his time in changing and patting the sweat away with his towel. The soft fabric met his face, briefly gracing him with the scent of fresh linen. After replacing his already saline soaked clothing with a fresh black shirt—one that was not so loose that it might become a hazard, but not tight enough to cling to his waist—and a thin pair of sweatpants that tapered in at the ankle, he checked himself over in the mirror before exiting to the looking glass. His hair was a lost cause as it had already been pushed back with sweat and was now drying into some unruly mess, put he couldn’t really be bothered.

He didn’t fool with putting his shoes back on, but decided to wait to take his socks off until he was actually in the gym. In his mind, wearing shoes on the mats equated to cardinal sin regardless of whether or not the coaches were  _ constantly _ leaving fresh, chalky shoe prints everywhere. He wasn’t able to distract himself with useless thoughts much longer, however, as he padded with muted footsteps into the waiting room. To his surprise, he recognized polished jade and undercut blonde hair. The man those aspects happened to belong to appeared to be waiting for him, hands on hips and facing towards the glass wall.

“Chris?” He called, confusion and curiosity marrying within his tone. Dark brows were drawn with the force of his intrigue.

The man in question turned to him, his expression saying that he had probably been analyzing one of his students. Pensive features melted into an all too charming grin, rich accented voice pouring like syrup as he greeted, “Yuuri, it’s been  _ ages _ .”

Yuuri rubbed his hands together, shoulders rising with invisible strings of social discomfort. “Level 10 Nationals, right?”

They’d seen each other at a handful of competitions when they were younger, always on opposing teams. Yuuri’s gym before he’d accepted his scholarship had been rather small, and the amount of gymnasts on the women’s team far outweighed those on the men’s team. Yuuri would often end up being the only one from his gym competing because of the lack of male gymnasts in his gym and the fact that competition times were split up by level, and sometimes age depending on the size of the meet. Chris and Yuuri ended up in the same rotation at a couple competitions, prompting the more outgoing of the two to seek out the one who tended to keep to himself. In the competitions where they weren’t in the same rotation, Chris would make it a point to wave at Yuuri whenever he had the chance, and he would sit beside him at the awards ceremony.

Christophe beamed. “I have to admit, I was a little sore when I found out you wouldn’t be competing with me anymore,” his voice was more of a tease than anything, but Yuuri couldn’t help but grimace at his implications.

“Yeah—I, uh… Taking the scholarship was my best option at the time.” He really,  _ really _ hated talking about anything that pertained to his crash and burn at attempting elite.

The only proof of Chris’s confusion at the admission was a dark, arched brow. “Well, it’s good to see you again. Let’s get going, I want to see that infamous Katsuki form everyone’s always gushed about.”

Yuuri exhaled the beginning of a laugh; short, clipped, and lacking mirth. “ _ Right. _ ”

He followed Chris out into the gym and to the rows of lockers over by what Yuuri had already mentally dubbed “Floor B”, unable to fathom why his stomach had dropped when his former competitor insinuated that  _ he _ would be the one evaluating him and not Viktor. Doing his best to push it to the back of his mind, Yuuri allowed his bag to fall to the ground so that he could exchange his socks for a water bottle and his grip bag. Chris instructed him on which locker to use and teased that they would put his name on it if he managed to survive his first day.

Though he’d tried not to intentionally seek out the sight of Viktor, he found his eyes wandering around the room anyway. He couldn’t help it, really. It wasn’t his fault that the man he’d grown up idolizing also happened to be incredibly attractive—even more so in person. Hickory locked on a glimpse of silver, unwilling to admit to the elevation of his heart rate and the relief of just knowing that he was  _ there _ . Maybe he would catch pieces of his evaluation after all.

“Are you ready to warm up?”

“Hm?” He blinked, gaze shifting back to Chris, who had walked around to settle in his vision. The remnants of his flush from earlier weren’t enough to hide the way his face was heating up. “Oh, um, I actually ran here from my house.”

Chris whistled. “And here I thought you were just happy to see me.”

Still as coquettish as he’d ever been, Yuuri mused. He decided to let the comment go, instead taking the proffered invitation to start stretching. Seeing as the floor was currently vacant, Yuuri took full advantage by grabbing a spot near the center. It was a habit formed of stretching in a circle with his teammates, he couldn’t help it. He watched himself stretch in the large panelled mirror, which reached from one corner of the floor to the other. It was useful to pinpoint where he was lacking in flexibility and what could use further stretching. He managed to catch Chris crossing the gym to speak with Viktor before he bent down to the floor, legs spread the width of his shoulders.

He shifted easily through stretches, trying to limber up as much as possible being that he was getting older and therefore needed to be more careful with his body. The wear and tear accompanied with gymnastics is, admittedly, the least charming factor about the sport. He could hear friendly French chatter growing nearer, assuming that the voices must belong to Chris and Viktor. He glanced up through loosely fallen ebony strands in time to catch Chris being swatted at, undoubtedly for something he said that could never be considered tasteful. Judging by his cheeky grin, Yuuri safely assumed that he didn’t want to know.

“Yuuri!” Viktor greeted, his rich voice all honey and marmalade.

The sound of his name from the man’s lips caused his heart to skip, his movement to sit completely on the carpet stilling for a fraction of a second. As he glanced up, hair for the most part slicked back and glasses absent from his portrait, he caught the almost undetectable widening of blue eyes and sharp inhalation of breath. “Oh! Hi, Viktor.” He managed to respond without sounding too cheeky, for which he commended himself, but his grin was telling of the fact that he’d definitely seen the coach’s reaction.

“I just wanted to officially welcome you to the gym. Chris is going to —”

“— be coaching his team while he evaluates you.” Chris finished for him smoothly, eliciting mixed reactions from the two parties.

“Uh, yes… That.” Viktor managed, his tone pointed as he attempted to drill a hole into Christophe using only his eyes. Yuuri swallowed, now acutely aware that he was going to be evaluated by Viktor Nikiforov, alone. Well, not really alone. The compulsory and optional girls and their respective coaches were also present, but they would be on completely separate events and paying little to no attention to the pair.

“Oh, okay,” came his dumb response, sounding miserably neutral compared to the simultaneous cheering and breakdown happening within the confines of his skull. He watched Chris mutter something he couldn’t hope to decrypt into Viktor’s ear before giving his ass a firm smack, the sound of which leaving Yuuri’s mouth helplessly dry and his face pitifully cardinal.

Viktor’s sigh—bordering on dramatic as it was—was the only thing telling of his reaction to Chris’s mysterious comment besides the faint painting of rose across the center of his portrait. Yuuri attempted to focus his attention back on his stretches, taking care to roll out his wrists and ankles thoroughly. Of all of his previous injuries, those pertaining to his joints had been the most difficult for him to fully recover from—if he recovered fully at all.

Viktor decided to take a seat across from him, leaving Yuuri’s attention decidedly divided. “We should probably go in Olympic order, but Mila’s team and my team are going to be taking the floors by the time you’re done stretching, so how do you feel about starting with pommel and ending with floor?”

“That’s fine with me.” Yuuri nodded, not really having a preferred starting event. He knew plenty of gymnasts who were absolutely heartbroken when they found out which event they were competing first, but he couldn’t really see the point in giving himself another reason to be anxious. Besides, it was some crazy universal conspiracy that every gymnast always ended up with their least favorite apparatus as their starting event.

“Good,” Viktor smiled, undoubtedly appreciating his cooperation. “If you don’t mind me asking, what brought you to  _ my _ gym in particular? Research, intuition,  _ fate _ ?”

Yuuri couldn’t help but laugh, lighthearted and tinkering as he shifted into a lunge, stretching out his hamstrings before ever attempting a split. It would seem the burner lighting beneath his cheeks would remain a constant throughout his time in Viktor’s proximity, this time the unabashed flirtiness in the coach’s voice being the reason for ignition. “Fate, huh?” His tone carried humor as he mock-pondered the thought. “Yeah, maybe that’s it.”

A sly grin graced Viktor’s lips, his tongue sliding over the newly dried flesh. Yuuri found his eyes dipping to revel in the sight, air dying upon inhalation before he ducked his head and slowly slid into his split.  _ Don’t start checking him out now!  _ He focused his attention on bouncing a few times in order to stretch as far as he possibly could, then shifting between right and left to loosen up his hips. The burn of attempting his splits after a few dormant months was almost enough to elicit a pained groan from within his throat. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip out of reflex, effectively trapping any expressions of discomfort. Once he felt that he had devoted enough time to loosening his muscles, he raised his arms above his head, eyes screwed shut as he fought the urge to put his hands down.  _ Ten, nine, eight, seven— _

The rustling of fabric against flesh and carpet was enough to call his attention back to the other in his presence, eyes snapping open as he released his lower lip. Wide, bleeding vats of citrine relocated to meet that polished turquoise gaze. The warm breath of an exhale met Yuuri’s newly wet lips, proving exactly how close Viktor’s face now was to his. His eyes skimmed over the other’s porcelain features, taking note of the pigment blooming at his cheeks and across his nose. Viktor’s mouth was parted a fraction, and Yuuri couldn’t help the way his gaze lingered.

Fingertips dusted over his hips with pressure so light he was almost convinced that he was imagining it, though his body tensed at the touch all the same. Each ghost of a junction equated with an iron from the fire, scorching through the thin material of his sweats and leaving fingerprints branded into once unmarred flesh. His lungs seemed to have escaped the cage of his ribs, for his breath eluded him entirely.

Finely woven threads, each its own shade of blue, were positively dripping with desire. Yuuri wanted to name every string that stretched from pitch irises; to isolate each color and then drown himself in their combination. This captivation held a raw intimacy, one that transcended the area surrounding them and placed the pair on a realm of their own. Blood rose to grace the flesh with singing warmth—his heart rate spiked, his raised arms were beginning to tremble. Viktor’s words came as a whisper, voice deepened by hardly chained need, “May I?”

He swallowed,  _ hard _ . With distrust of his own voice weighing heavily on his mind, he could only manage a slow nod. Viktor’s grip tightened around his midsection, two fingers of each hand resting against the top of his thighs while the others molded perfectly at his hips. He could feel the stamp of fingertips dipping into his skin, a soft, barely distinguishable groan passing along with exhaled breath. And then—

A jarring motion abruptly set his hips square in his split, his hands falling to his sides to catch himself while an all too audible moan of pain forced its way through the clutches of his teeth, like he’d just been hit. With that, he was jolted back to reality, mouth hanging open dumbly. Oh.  _ Oh _ .

“There you go,  _ just like that _ .” Viktor practically purred, looking  _ entirely _ too satisfied. Then, he winked. He fucking  _ winked _ . “Keep those hips squared, alright? No cheating on your splits.”

To say that Yuuri was astonished would be a massive understatement. He opened his mouth, only to close it again as embarrassment seized his every nerve. He wished he had some clever quip ready to roll off his tongue in retaliation, but his mind was melting into a mess of  _ what the hell was that _ . Deciding that he’d spent entirely too much time on one leg, he shifted into ‘sleeping pigeon’ and buried his glowing face in his knee. Ten counts later, he was finally able to show the opposite leg some attention and start the process over with a lunge.

And so the game began.

 

* * *

 

The men’s compulsory and optional teams were cooling down together on the rightmost floor after a particularly grueling workout and power conditioning. Between stretches, some of the boys had taken to laying on their backs, staring up at the ceiling lights in their evident exhaustion. That was a sign of a good day of practice if Viktor had ever seen one. Two of his _ shining stars _ finished up ahead of the others, departing from the circle to rummage through their lockers.

“Great work today, Yura, Otabek.” Viktor cheered, waving to the pair as one dug his phone and a pair of headphones out of his gym bag and the other conjured up a pair of keys.

“Easy for you to say. You worked us to the bone and never lifted a damn finger,” Yuri sneered, pulling the elastic band from his hair to let blonde fall freely at his shoulders.

“Ah, you say that even though I spotted you on all of those double twisting Tsuks, didn’t I?” Suffice to say he was beaming at the prospect of his protege entering the senior elite division after his final season as a level 10, and at the same age that Viktor himself had ventured into the great beyond _! _ “You’re so mean, Yura.”

“Shut up.” He grumbled, shoving a headphone into one ear and cranking his music up loud enough for the audio to blare clearly through the other speaker hanging at his stomach. “Me and Beka are hanging out, so I don’t need a ride.” Otabek gave a silent wave in response, keys in his free hand signifying that he was ready to move out.

“ _ Hm _ , alright. Be careful.” Viktor chirped, turning his attention back to the groaning circle of boys who were just finishing up their cool down.

“ _ Whatever _ .” Yuri drawled back, perpetually annoyed by every word out of anyone’s mouth that wasn’t Otabek. Viktor had to wonder if it had something to do with the fact that Otabek hardly seemed to talk.

“Have fun on your date, you two!” Chris teased, intentionally poking the bear. Otabek managed a thumbs up in response.

“ _ Fuck off _ !” The younger spat, his form disappearing into the waiting room along with the sound of what Christophe could only suspect was a string of Russian expletives. Then again, Yuri had the power to make everything he said sound like an expletive.

Chris laughed, doing nothing to hide his amusement. Unlike most, he actually found the young gymnast’s brash behavior to be endearing. If ever there was a time when Yuri wasn’t hissing at him to  _ go fuck himself _ , that’s when he would start to worry. Once Yuri disappeared from the looking glass, Chris turned his attention back to Viktor.

“If anyone’s going to break your records, it’s going to be Yuri.” Chris slipped into French, as he always did when discussing topics that could be considered sensitive to the other gymnasts. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

Viktor couldn’t help but smile, nodding. His arms were crossed over his chest as he watched a few more boys finish up and go to their lockers. He told them good work and waved. “Records are set to be broken, after all. That’s what I’m training Yura to do. Besides, he reminds me of myself at his age.”

Chris chuckled at that. “You’re kidding, right? There’s no way you were that abrasive.” Trying to imagine a young, long haired Viktor spouting off at his coach every day brought him more entertainment than he thought it might.

Viktor waved a hand at him as the last of the group finished up and moved out. “No, no, never.” He quickly clarified, “I meant his drive. He has all this focus and a plan all his own. He only asked me weeks ago if he could start working on Yurchenkos when he had free time in case he wanted to switch his vault for his first elite season and he’s already flipping them.”

Chris whistled. “It sounds like next summer is going to be really fun, in that case.” The competitive season was coming up quickly, and it was going to be both Yuri and Otabek’s last season as level 10’s. “Has Otabek decided whether he wants to take any of those scholarships yet?”

Viktor shook his head. “He’s still thinking about it, and I don’t blame him. It’s a hard decision to make.”

It’s also Otabek’s last season before he graduates high school, which puts him in the precarious position of having to decide whether to immediately accept a scholarship to join a college gymnastics team, or to try his hand at elite and see how far he can go. No one wanted to push him in one direction or the other, it’s very much his future and he should choose what will make him happiest.

“Maybe he should talk to Yuuri, in that case.” Chris mused, thoughtful. “It might be helpful to hear what college gymnastics is like first hand, since he’s already gotten to talk to you about the world of elite.”

Judging by the way Viktor’s face lit up, he seemed to agree with that proposal. “That’s a wonderful idea!” He chirped. “I’ll have to ask him the next time he comes in.”

“Speaking of Yuuri,” Chris started, keeping the conversation moving while he walked over to the nearby sound station to turn off the music. Both of their teams made their great escape while the two coaches had been idly conversing, all waves and smiles as they exited. “How did his evaluation go? I was hoping to catch some of it, but I was pretty focused on trying to steal your optional girls.”

Viktor gasped, placing a hand against his chest as though he’d been scandalized. “My girls would never choose another coach!” He retorted, defensive. After the pair shared a laugh, Viktor decided to answer Chris’s question. “His evaluation went great—better than he thought it would, I think.”

“Still no mention of that home meet though, I assume.”

Viktor shook his head. “No, but I’ve at least figured out that he isn’t repulsed by me.”

Chris gave him a knowing look. “ _ Oh _ ? Just what were you evaluating?”

“Not like that!” The other defended, starting on his venture through the waiting room and out to his car. The Mommy and Me group would be coming in soon, so Sara was probably getting things set up on the leftmost floor at the moment. “I just fixed his split.”

His faux innocence was not convincing in the slightest—the cheshire grin that split Chris’s face said as much. “ _ Coach Viktor _ !” He mock chided, “And in front of the children, no less!”

Viktor’s face was glowing red as the pair made their way out into the parking lot and toward their respective cars, which happened to be parked together in the employee section of the lot. “I told you it wasn’t like that.” The face Chris made told him that he was full of shit. “Okay—so maybe I did it to get a rise out of him. Can you blame me?”

“Well, he  _ did _ not call you after giving you,” he used air quotes for emphasis, “‘ _the best head of your life_ ’, only to show up at your gym a year later to ask if he can hang out.”

Viktor groaned rather dramatically. “Exactly! Then he acts like we’ve never met, but he keeps giving me these  _ looks— _ !” He sighed, draping himself over his car—a shiny, gold wrapped Audi, no less—as he sighed his defeat. “I don’t know what it all means, Chris. Is he just playing with me?”

Christophe looked, for once, sympathetic. He forewent his usual flirtatious antics in favor of being genuine with his friend. “I don’t think he’s doing it on purpose, Viktor.” He reassured. “Yuuri was always really quiet when I knew him. Maybe he’s nervous.”

Viktor couldn’t help but snort. “He was anything  _ but _ nervous when I met him.”

Chris hummed, musing, “Yeah, but he  _ was _ also pretty drunk…” He held onto the last word, a thought occurring to him that they had yet to consider. “Say, you don’t think he could have blacked out that night, do you? The bar  _ did _ have to cut him off.”

Viktor’s eyes widened, the color draining from his face rather dramatically as he scrambled to get up off of his car. “No, no, no! Oh,  _ god _ , no!” He was whisper shouting, looking around the parking lot to see if anyone heard Chris’s comment. “I mean, he couldn’t have been _ that  _ drunk, he was dancing, and walking, and saying full sentences! Well, he  _ was _ slurring, but so was I. We were both drunk, but I remember everything so surely he does too, right?”

“Viktor,  _ breathe _ .” Christophe urged, grabbing the other by the shoulders in an attempt to calm him down.

“But  _ Chris _ , you’re not understanding—if he really was that drunk, there’s no way he could’ve consented and  _ that _ means—”

“ _ Viktor! _ ” Chris cut him off before he could go too far down the path of convicting himself. The man in question paused his rambling, eyes wide and still filled with horror. “For right now, let’s just say you were both drunk, things got out of hand, and you both had a little bit of fun. From what you told me, you didn’t force him to do anything. I really think that you should just talk to him about it, okay?”

Viktor found the sense to nod, still looking particularly mortified by the thought of Yuuri  _ actually not remembering him _ . Chris released his shoulders, giving his arm a playful pat. “Okay. I’ll talk to him. I just… need to find a way to do it outside of the gym. I’d rather not subject my teams to my personal life.”

Christophe smiled. “There he is.” He commented. “Now let’s go, you could probably use a drink.”

Viktor shook his head. “No, I think I have to pass this time around. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri hadn’t had the time to tell Phichit about the evaluation the first time he poked his head in the house, seeing as he only had enough time to shower off the morning’s grime and rush to the studio for a menswear shoot. The hair and makeup team didn’t seem to mind that his hair was still a little damp and his skin was freshly moisturized, even though the autumn sun had done well to hide most of the evidence. He figured it was better than the alternative—covered in chalk and smelling like death.

The photo shoot had taken most of the day, which was to be expected given the ever-changing outfits. Some mid-grade store was gearing up to launch their winter clothing and he was posing for the photos that would be uploaded to their online catalog. He typically preferred lower production shoots to the more complicated ones anyway. Luckily enough for him—and for Phichit too—he appealed to companies who were looking for the right person to sell their products, being that gymnastics left him with an attractive physique. That and the fact that he did have _ some _ kind of reputation as a college athlete helped him get decently consistent bookings.

He heaved a sigh as he entered his duplex, content to finally be home for the day so that he could remove the makeup that had been slathered on to enhance his natural features. It never failed to jar him, seeing his own image perfected. It was weird, like he was made of marble and then airbrushed with color, and that was  _ before _ they retouched the photos. He promised himself he wouldn’t look at the photoshopped versions of his pictures anymore once he made the mistake of doing exactly that after his first shoot. It had taken him a long time to regain his self confidence, despite Phichit assuring him that there was no such thing as an untouched picture in commercial modeling.

Unfortunately, the makeup removal would have to wait. Phichit was home, and he had put his phone down—a sign that he meant business—the moment Yuuri walked through the door.

“Yuuri, you’re home!  _ Finally _ . Did you bother to read any of my texts?” His roommate implored, voice implying that he had better conjure up a good reason as to why he didn’t respond. “I was going to call the police on you, you know.”

Yuuri waved him off, not believing the threat for a second. “Sorry, sorry. The shoot ran later than we thought because the photographer wanted me to model a few extra things. Something about my expressions being versatile and, well, you know how it is.”

Phichit sighed, seeming to sink further into the couch. “Come on, Yuuri. You’ve got to start paying more attention to your phone.” He groaned, playing up the theatrics rather well. Yuuri considered telling him to start acting lessons—honestly, he would probably do well. “Or else I’ll actually call the police to pick you up one day.”

Trying to push the absurdity of that notion to the back of his mind, Yuuri could only shake his head. He maneuvered around the bar to the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets to find something for dinner. It looked like tomorrow would be a good day for grocery shopping, since the gym was closed and he didn’t have any prior obligations.

“Aren’t you going to tell me how practice went?” Phichit called from the living room, sounding genuinely heartbroken that Yuuri hadn’t gushed to him about his life being a fairy tale the moment he walked through the doors.

“It went well.” He answered, truthful. “Didn’t hit the mats as much as I thought I would.”

Phichit scoffed as if the prospect of Yuuri falling in front of his idol was something completely unheard of. Muscle memory  _ had _ served to do him well, after all, and the added pressure of being observed did more to help than it did to hurt. He felt like he had something to prove, and Viktor seemed satisfied with the results of his college training. He had, of course, documented a full list of things that needed to be improved on and read them off at the end of each routine as if it was nothing, but the intermittent praise for his sharper skills had provided a good balance between good and bad feedback.

“And?” Phichit prompted, sighing when Yuuri merely arched a brow in question. “Viktor?”

“Oh.” Yuuri managed, willing his face not to heat up. “He was fine.”

“Oh, I bet.” Phichit grinned, shifting to lean over the back of the couch while Yuuri filled a pot with water. “Is that a blush I see?”

“Phichit!” Yuuri groaned, but he knew he was fighting a losing battle. He knew better than to show signs of weakness around his roommate. He placed the pot on a burner and cranked up the heat to the highest setting, leaning back against the counter as he waited for the water to boil.

“Is he  _ dreamy _ ?” Phichit drawled, chin resting against his folded hands with a smirk. He was definitely trying to get a rise out of Yuuri, and it seemed to be working if his ducked head was anything to go by.

Yuuri elected not to respond, fidgeting with the lip of the counter as if his fingers pulling at the tile could provide some form of escape. He had been trying—and failing—not to think about the split incident that morning, and now it was practically screaming for attention. What was Viktor hoping to accomplish with that? Was Yuuri reading too much into it.

“Something happened!” Phichit declared, nearly falling when he vaulted himself over the back of the couch to scramble towards the kitchen. Perhaps it  _ was _ true that gymnasts were only graceful when performing. “I can see it all over your face!”

“N-nothing happened!” Yuuri urged, lifting his hands to chest height as if that would deter his friend’s burning curiosity. Unfortunately for him, Phichit was not buying it.

“Come  _ on _ , you have to tell me!”

The other sighed. If he didn’t give in now, he would just hear about it for the rest of the night and well into the next day. “He just gave me a look, Phichit.”

“A look?” Phichit seemed to visibly deflated, leaning back against the counter as if the revelation had been entirely underwhelming. “What, like bedroom eyes? That kind of look?”

“I don’t know!” Yuuri groaned. He was confused enough without his roommate jumping to conclusions for him. “And then he grabbed my hips—”

“He grabbed your hips?” The other all but squawked, instantly lighting up again. Honestly, watching his emotions yo-yo was its own form of exhausting.

“Well, no.” Yuuri started hesitantly. “Yes? No? I don’t know!” His hands came up to cradle his head, vocalizing his frustration in the form of a distressed moan.

“Hey, hey.” Phichit grabbed his shoulders in an attempt to calm him, eyes expressing worry. “Don’t stress over it, Yuuri. Just tell me what happened.”

After a moment, Yuuri nodded. A second opinion couldn’t hurt, even if Phichit was a bit biased. “He just… got really close with this  _ look  _ in his eyes, and then he touched my hips and straightened my split, and  _ winked _ !” It was embarrassing, especially having to admit it out loud.

Phichit hummed, thoughtful. “Maybe he likes you,” he proposed, and Yuuri was sure he was joking. As it turned out, he appeared to be completely serious.

“He doesn’t even know me, Phichit.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. The sound of water hissing against a burner reminded him that he’d been cooking, so he turned his attention back to the pot on the stove before all of the water had time to evaporate. His hands worked to pry open a cardboard package containing spaghetti noodles, breaking them in half before he slid them into the boiling water.

“But he’s seen you compete, right?” Phichit attempted to bring up a valid argument. “Maybe he’s got a crush. God knows you’ve been fawning over him for years after watching all of his competitions and press conferences.”

Yuuri punched the recommended time into the timer on the microwave above the stove, turning the fan on to suck up the steam currently warming their apartment. “He’s  _ Viktor Nikiforov _ ,” Yuuri pressed, as if that fact alone made him completely immune to crushes. “There’s nothing remarkable about Katsuki Yuuri.”

“Hey!” Phichit chided, raising his voice and catching the other by the arm. “ _ Don’t _ do that. You’re an incredible gymnast, and an incredible person.”

Yuuri sighed, freeing his arm to rummage through the drawers for something to stir the noodles with.

“Look, Yuuri, you can’t beat yourself up over Worlds forever. It’s been five  _ years _ .” He knew this conversation well. He’d had it entirely too many times with entirely too many people, Phichit especially. “Elite was never in the cards for me, but you managed to make it to the  _ World Cup  _ in your  _ first  _ year. Everyone has bad competitions, okay? There’s no need to be so hard on yourself.”

Phichit had suffered a knee injury before what was supposed to be his first elite season which forced him to take time off for rehabilitation. Similar to Yuuri’s complications with not wanting to cost his family any more money than they’d already spent in order to back a comeback as an elite gymnast, he opted to accept a college scholarship. Honestly, it was a wonder he hadn’t decided to retire after what seemed to be such a fatal blow to his career.

“You’re probably right,” Yuuri hummed, placing the wooden spoon down on the empty cardboard box of noodles before turning to face the other with an apologetic look.

“I know I’m right.” Phichit smiled. He made peace with his deceased Olympic dreams a long time ago. “Now, I’m dying to know. How did they like your floor exhibition?”

“What?” Yuuri huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes when the other bounced his eyebrows suggestively. “I didn’t perform that.”

Phichit gaped, looking utterly scorned. “Wait, are you serious?” His voice raised to a dangerous pitch, hand coming to rest on his chest in scandal. “Yuuri, you spent  _ months _ working on it. Why  _ wouldn’t _ you show it off?”

Yuuri arched a brow, suspicious. “Because it didn’t have anything to do with the evaluation?”

Phichit groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes. “That routine is way too good to be left in the dark, Yuuri!”

After some debate, they both decided to abandon the topic in favor of Netflix and spaghetti. It happened that they both had the next day off, so it was fine to stay up a little later than normal to catch up on the week and devise a plan for tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rotation: If a team doesn't have enough gymnasts to fill up an event, other teams will accompany them on their starting event and move through the competitive order with them. Basically, it just means that they start on the same event and compete together until they move to the next event. Lather, rinse, repeat.
> 
> Olympic order for men's gymnastics: floor exercise, pommel horse, still rings, vault, parallel bars and horizontal bar. This is the order that the rotation moves in, but different groups all start on different events.
> 
> Male gymnasts don't have dance in their floor routines, or floor routine music for that matter, so you can probably assume what Yuuri's exhibition is going to be. It was a need, okay. I needed this. 
> 
> Phichit is Yuuri's biggest fan and vice versa, and I adore them. They're precious. Also, some Chris being the level-headed friend while Viktor spirals into his thoughts.
> 
> I think gymnast!Otayuri is feeding a particular part of my soul.

**Author's Note:**

> The girls/my girls/the boys/my boys = It’s really not weird, every gymnastics coach I’ve ever met referred to the women’s team as “the girls” or “my girls” and the same with the men’s team and “the boys” or “my boys”  
> Meet = competition  
> Home meet = A competition hosted by the gymnast’s home gym, whether inside their actual practice location or at a rented venue where equipment is brought in  
> Set = usually pertaining to the position your body should be in when transitioning from an element entering into a flip; arms high above your head and as close to your ears as possible, core and legs tight with a gently rounded back, eyes forward as long as possible until you have to flip. It’s designed to increase the height of your tucks, pikes, layouts, etc so that they are buildable  
> cowboy/cowboy out = grabbing and spreading legs apart when flipping in the tucked position instead of keeping them together  
> Tuck (flipping) = a flip with bent knees; properly done with hands resting over the knees after the set, not behind, and with 30 degrees between the knees and the chest.  
> Layout (flipping) = a flip where the body is completely straight; properly done with a high set, arms coming to meet the thighs and with tight, hollowed form  
> Spot = 1. The act of guiding a gymnast through a skill with one’s hands for support, usually when they are new to a skill and need to learn the movements or if there is a chance they may hurt themselves  
> 2\. Keeping your head still and watching a certain object or space while turning on your foot for as long as possible, and then snapping your head back into position to keep from getting lost in a turn  
> Four incher = A mat that is four inches thick  
> Pit mat = A large mat used for vaulting and landings  
> “Pull the mat” = Taking the mat away so that the gymnast lands on the “hard” surface  
> Conditioning = a variety of exercises meant to strengthen and train key areas of the body so that skills can be performed safely and efficiently  
> Tsuk = Short for Tsukahara; a common vault in level 8, 9, and 10  
> Yurchenko = A vault common in level 8, 9, and 10  
> Pit = A concrete hole in the ground filled with foam blocks designed to cushion the landing of new skills
> 
> There’s some crazy conspiracy-level stuff happening in the gymnastics world where all of the coaches (that I’ve encountered) have decided that, “Yeah, baby!” is the preferred exclamation for when a routine lands with minimal deductions. I’ll try to resist overusing it, lol. I’ll also explain all the jargon that I can think of in the notes, but don’t hesitate to ask for clarification! I have a little dictionary typed up for this fic.
> 
> Having a big gym like that is a big deal to me, ok. But I couldn’t imagine anything less for Viktor.
> 
> Also, that smell thing is real. It’s a mixture of chalk and foot sweat, and god forbid you come home smelling like pit foam. That’s probably the worst of it. I swear I've seen gymnasts use blocks to wipe their sweat. There is a good chance that you will have little pieces of pit foam and chalk covering you from head to toe during the summer when learning new skills. Also, having the background that I do, I was genuinely surprised to see people fall in figure skating programs and still win. Falling is a huge deduction in gymnastics, so the likelihood of placing at all with a fall in higher level gymnastics is slim. That being said, I’ve also had meets where I would fall on an event and sometimes still come out with a gold on said event, and/or gold All Around. It depends on your competition, and the difficulty of your routine once you breach elite.


End file.
